


A Green-Eyed Saviour

by stargategeek



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Cult AU, Disturbed, Emotional Manipulation, F/M, Implied Sexual Abuse, Weird, and a little bit sexy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-15
Updated: 2018-04-15
Packaged: 2019-04-23 10:31:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,208
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14330556
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stargategeek/pseuds/stargategeek
Summary: Sansa lifts her hands up in worship - - supplication like the people beside her, but they are not raised to the symbol of a deity. She does not worship at the feet of the Lord of Light, but to the grey-green eyes of a smiling messiah, who stands at his podium with eyes only for her.





	A Green-Eyed Saviour

Sansa awoke in ashes. They stung her eyes and stole air from her lungs, yet she was alarmingly calm as she rose.

The destruction was beyond anything she’d ever seen. The walls of her childhood home reduced to cinders and bits of glass and debris. It had all happened so quickly.

“Mom! Dad!”

No answer. She found herself climbing up a pile of timber and concrete, the highest point in reach. Her eyes scanned over the landscape, surveying the damage.

A lone van came into sight, zooming up the drive, leaving dust in its wake.

_That was quick._

The van stopped, a group of people in bright red shirts exited the vehicle. They ran around like ants, dousing out the remaining fires and searching for any more survivors amongst the debris.

The last person out of the car was a man, not dressed like the others. His attire was too pristine, his manner calm and unaffected. The first thing she notices is the bright grey streaks of hair at his temples. He is a fair distance away but it is like she can feel him, his presence - and he can feel her too. All this chaos around him and it’s like it all falls away when he sees her, standing at the top of a mountain of ash, looking for a saviour.  
Her saviour.  
Him.

He takes off his sunglasses and she can see the bright emerald sparkle in his eyes. He smiles, and she knows she is saved.

~~~~

“Sansa,” he knows her name. He seems to know her just by looking at her. Her whole story written on the lines of her face and the scars on her arms.

“How do you know me?” she is bewildered. Not sure if he is real or a mirage - a desperate illusion created from her own battered mind.

The way he smiles captivates her, despite the blur of her thoughts, and the sheer discombobulation of her life the past 24 hours.

The man led her from the chaos that was her house in ashes and swept her away into a green, mint-scented paradise tucked between nowhere and a dream. The entire outside world melted away with each drop of clean water and ray of impossibly warm sunshine. She had wandered the entire day as if in a trance, the only thing grounding her to her body was the man with the sad smile, and the green eyes.

When he looked at her, earth sprouted beneath her feet. Like she was mother Gaia herself, burst to life.

“You can have a shower if you like,” he had said to her through the haze. “Or food if you are hungry.”

His words are soft, his expressions are gentle. Sansa still can’t help the feeling that the other shoe would drop any moment. It was her instinct. It always dropped. And with it went any semblance of comfort and warmth. She just wanted to revel in the warmth just a little longer.

“Please,” she hears herself say. “What am I to call you?”

“You may call me Petyr, if you like,” he muttered softly, gently moving a stray lock of hair off her face. “Though you may prefer to call me Uncle.”

And there it was. The shoe.

~~~~

The shower had done a lot to clear her mind. Sansa wiped off the grime from her shoulders; the trailing remnants of smoke and ash all along her skin and clinging to her hair.

Though she doesn’t think of much, doesn’t acknowledge the images of burnt wood and demolished walls. She still didn’t understand what happened. One moment it was a day like any other and the next it was all rubble.

She twisted the shower to off and reached for the towel hanging on its hook.

“Where is she?” she startled at the voices, quietly pressing herself against the wall behind the curtain.

“She’ll be ready in a moment,” she recognized his voice. It was soothing to her, despite who he was.

“Why did you not tell me?” the other voice hissed. From the way that Sansa was angled she could see further into the locker room, catching a glimpse of the woman through her reflection in the mirror. Him too.

“I did not want to overwhelm her. She’s had a hard enough day as it is.”

Sansa caught the familial red - though thinned and dulled from years of rough care and over exposure to the sun. In her heart though, she knew who this woman was. Her mother had mentioned a few times that she’d had a sister.

Petyr stepped closer to the mirror, examining his visage. He wore a striking black suit with a red tie. He adjusted the tie and smoothed his hair, pausing when he noticed Sansa in the reflection.

Her aunt was still talking, in hushed words, about what Sansa couldn’t tell. She was transfixed. Her uncle had the uncanny ability to capture her even from a face reflected in a mirror a room away. The towel around Sansa slipped, exposing one breast unknowingly to his gaze. Even more so, left exposed, was her arm, the peppering of scars crawling all the way up to her bicep. To his credit, he did not react, but even then, his eyes darkened somewhat.

“Are you even listening to me?” her Aunt hissed.

Petyr broke away his gaze from Sansa and straightened the line of his waistcoat.

“I will take care of everything, my dear,” he turned and rested his hands upon his wife’s waist, pulling her to him in a husbandly kiss. Again, in the mirror, his eyes flicked to Sansa as he kissed his wife deeply.

Sansa swallowed a thick lump in her throat and ducked once more behind the curtain, wrapping the towel more securely around her and pressing her back into the wall. The air she sucked in was moist from the shower, and smelt of soap and the dank scent that accompanied most shower rooms. It grounded her once more.

She slipped her ruined pyjamas back on and threw her hair into the towel, twisting it into a mock turban.

When she stepped out her aunt was gone and Petyr was waiting for her.

“Will you come with me, Sansa?” he held out his hand.

She gave him hers without hesitation, despite the way his eyes continued to glint the way they had in the mirror.

“I’m afraid I have something to tell you.”

Perhaps this was the shoe after all.

~~~~

“My family is dead?” Sansa sunk to the floor.

“You were the only survivor that we found,” his voice is low and calming.

“My mother? My father? My dog?”

He places a hand on her back as an earth shattering sob wracks through her.

“Shhh, shh, shh,” he hushes. She collapses at his feet, burying her face in her hands. They were all gone.

His warmth surrounds her like a blanket. He kneels over her, arms wrapping around her middle, forehead pressed to her back.

“I am here, I am here,” he repeats over and over again - rocking her in his strong arms, breathing into the middle of her back until the sobs die in her throat and the tears dry on her cheeks.

“Where am I to go?” she mutters into the air. She can’t presume. He has been too kind already.

“You may stay here as long as you wish, Sansa,” he whispers, still holding her in the oddly comfortable way, despite how awkward it must be for him.

“But I don’t believe,” her head bows with sorrow.

He inhales, she can feel it in between her shoulder blades. As though he were breathing her in.

“That is no matter now,” he whispers, his closeness now invasive, his touch bordering on lingering. He releases her, stepping away to adjust himself; his clothes. She knows she catches a glimpse of something else, something not quite human before he traps it behind a mask of geniality. The mask of a leader.

“You are family,” he says after clearing his throat. “This place is always welcome to you. I have informed your half-brother Jon of your situation. He put in a request for leave, but there is no telling how long it will take for it to be granted. Until then you may stay with us, unless you...”

She finds herself clasping his arm, clinging to him tightly.

“I would like to stay...here...with you.”

It’s like time stops when he looks at her, his emerald grey eyes piercing her with such a dark invading look, as to almost penetrate and haunt her very being.

He quirks his head and smiles, a mischievous little thing, and suddenly she feels as naked before him as she did in the showers. Her hands still clasped to his arm, she only realizes they are there when he takes one of them in his hand and brings it up to his mouth for a kiss.

“Very well.”

~~~~

“Will this do?” Petyr led her into small room located at the north end of the compound. Sparsely furnished with a simple twin bed, a chest for her belongings and a chair tucked in the corner. “It’s isn’t much, but it’s warm and dry.”

It was raining outside.

“On a clear day you can see the mountains,” he took a shirt from out of a bag he was carrying. A simple red tee with an unfamiliar logo emblazoned on the front.

Sansa was still in her dirty and torn pyjamas.

He took three more items from the bag - some sweatpants, a small bag of toiletries, a set of a simple bra and panties. He placed them on the bed.

“I thought you might like something clean to change into.” He dropped the bag at the foot of the bed. “You can place what you’re wearing in there and I can have them disposed of.”

Sansa looked down at her singed top, at the holes where reddened skin and bruises peeked through. When she had showered she hadn’t had any other clothes with her. It took her until now to realize she had gone the entire day without a bra.

Her eyes lifted to Petyr’s, noticing the way he looked at her. The expression on his face was unreadable - in a way it already made her feel exposed.

Without much thought she brought her shirt over her head, depositing it into the bag, baring her pink and mottled skin to his scrutinous gaze.  
She took in the way his eyes widened just that smallest bit, how they lingered over the valley of her breasts, the peaks of her nipples stippling in the cool air.

He schooled his expression though, save for the smallest tilt in one corner of his mouth. He met her eyes, the grey-green pools piercing her through her heart straight to he pulsing core.

In a slow movement he lowered himself, his eyes never leaving hers as he bent to pick up the folded shirt from where he placed it on the bed.

“Cover up,” his voice rasped. “It’s cold.”

“It doesn’t bother me,” she replied instantly, swallowing down a gulp of thick, moist air.

Petyr’s eyes glinted - the mischievous eyes of a snake.  
“Sweetling, I’m your Uncle.”

“I don’t have anything else to repay you,” Sansa felt the warmth of shame blossom along her cheeks. Petyr’s hand reached out to touch, seemingly the tempting peak of one her nipples, before diverting it completely to touch her arm. He touched the scar sitting underneath her right elbow, tracing it softly before retracting his hand once again.

“Not like this,” he grabbed the shirt with both hands, rolling the hem up to the neck for easy access to the neck hole and sleeves. “For too long you’ve had to use your beauty as your defence mechanism and your sex as your only weapon in a cruel world,” he helped her into the shirt as he spoke, guiding her as though she were a young child. Gentle hands fed each arm into each sleeve. Sansa watched in rapt attention. “No more, Sansa. No more.”

Those lithe fingers wrapped under the hem of the shirt, slowly pulling the fabric down over her chest. The backs of his knuckles grazed the soft fullness of her breasts, causing her to shiver. Through it all his gaze remained fixed on her.

“I will not use you the way all those boys did,” even in the soft way that he spoke, Sansa could hear the quiver. The anger - the green hint of possessiveness deep in the pools of his eyes. It was as if he knew her to her very soul - as though they were kin to one another.

One hand raised to cup her cheek, bringing her forehead up to meet his lips in an avuncular sort of kiss. Though his fingers curled just a little too much into her hair, and his touch lingered just a little too long. He pulled back, his mask of unaffected geniality in sharp contrast to the proximity of his body.

“You are now under the protection of the Lord of Light,” she felt his hands grasp hold of her shoulders. “I will take care of you, Sansa.”

Then he left.

**Author's Note:**

> Doing a FIC PURGE!! Chapters of stories just hanging around, what draws the crowds. Seeing what sticks. More to come. Enjoy!
> 
> Idea inspired by tv series The Path.


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